He had
left Betteredge, an hour since, sunning himself in the customary corner
of the back yard. I knew it well; and I said I would go and seek him
myself.
I walked round by the familiar paths and passages, and looked in at the
open gate of the yard.
There he was--the dear old friend of the happy days that were never to
come again--there he was in the old corner, on the old beehive chair,
with his pipe in his mouth, and his ROBINSON CRUSOE on his lap, and his
two friends, the dogs, dozing on either side of him! In the position
in which I stood, my shadow was projected in front of me by the last
slanting rays of the sun. Either the dogs saw it, or their keen scent
informed them of my approach; they started up with a growl. Starting
in his turn, the old man quieted them by a word, and then shaded his
failing eyes with his hand, and looked inquiringly at the figure at the
gate.
My own eyes were full of tears. I was obliged to wait a moment before I
could trust myself to speak to him.
CHAPTER II
"Betteredge!" I said, pointing to the well-remembered book on his knee,
"has ROBINSON CRUSOE informed you, this evening, that you might expect
to see Franklin Blake?"
"By the lord Harry, Mr.
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